Mizu's 30 day otp challenge
by suninmypocket
Summary: found on tumblr (mizufallsfromkumo) Wes/Travis
1. day 1

**prompt: **_getting lost together_

"You've got us lost, haven't you?"

"No. We're not lost."

"We're lost, then."

"You were the one who insisted on dragging me out here."

"You're the one who stole the map because you're an anal retentive control freak."

"I just like to know where we're going."

"Well neither of us knows now, do we?"

"Why did you even want to bring me out here, anyway?"

"Um... it was kinda... it's just that my first foster mom used to bring me here all the time and I... maybewantedtoshareitwithyou."

"Oh."


	2. day 2

**prompt: **_pet names_ _(I know this is pretty tenuous... I also know I have shamelessly semi-crossed over with The Following.__)_

They're in couples' therapy when Wes' phone goes off. He frowns as he checks the screen. "It's Jonelle," he says, slipping it back into his pocket. "She says it's urgent." He gets up. "Come on, then, Cabbage Patch." He doesn't appear to notice his little slip-up, and neither does Travis, getting up out of his seat and grinning charmingly at the other couples.

"See you next time!" he says, happily, as they leave the room.

/

Jonelle is waiting for them in the coronary office, standing over her most recent cadaver. Wes clears his throat to get her attention. "You said it was urgent," he says.

"Yes," Jonelle replies, forgoing the usual glares and jabs at Travis. "It's possible that the MO of this murder is the same as a killer who has been working over in D.C."

"So he's skipped town and come here?" Travis asks.

"Or it's an imitation murder," Wes points out.

"Whatever the case is," Jonelle interrupts. "It needs to be flagged up. The feds are apparently on the case over in D.C."

"God, I hate the feds," Travis moans.

"That's beside the point," Jonelle replies. "If they don't catch this creep, your jobs are going to get a helluva lot busier."

"She's right, Cabbage Patch," Wes says. "We'd best get a shift on."

"Feeling you there, baby," Travis replies. They move to leave when Jonelle calls out after them, nonchalantly, amusement colouring her tone,

"Why don't you two just fuck already?" The fire engine red of Wes' face is matched only in colour by the shade of Travis' face.

/

As it turns out, the feds are already in L.A., having chased their suspect across the States from D.C. Wes and Travis meet them outside Captain Sutton's office, just as they're about to enter themselves to give their report. The Captain gestures for them all to come in. "Mitchell, Marks, I see you got my message."

"No, actually, Cap," Travis says. "We were just coming to discuss the Banbury case with you."

"Oh." Sutton looks momentarily put out, before brightening. "As a matter of fact, that's what I wanted to discuss with you."

"Is it about the MO?" Wes asks. "Because we've talked to Jonelle."

"That and other things. Boys, these are Special Agents Parker, Hardy and Weston. They're going to need your help." Sutton nods at them to take over.

"I suppose you've heard of Joe Carroll," Parker starts and they nod. "Well, we have reason to believe that he's here, in L.A."

"How strong a reason are we talking here?" Travis asks. "I'm just curious. Is it a 'we followed him here so we're pretty damn sure' kind of reason, or is it a 'we got told he was coming here but we're not so sure' reason?" Parker looks at him sharply. Travis shrugs. "Just wondering."

"We followed him here," Hardy answers for her. "And now we need your help to find him."

"With all due respect," Wes says. "L.A.'s a damn big city. It's not going to be easy to find him."

"We've already pinpointed his location," Weston interrupts. "Phone tracker," he says in reply to Travis' questioning glance. "It's just a case of getting him. And since this is your terrain, we figured you'd be the best people to help."

"Y'hear that, Cabbage Patch," Wes mutters under his breath. "The feds just admitted that we were better set than them."

"Sure did, baby." Travis murmurs back.

"Anyway," Parker continues. "We need you to help."

"Can't hurt," Wes shrugs.

/

As it turns out, it can hurt. The bust is a shitstorm from the word go. Someone's clearly ratted out to Carroll about it, and as a result, the place is like Fort Knox. They're sheltering behind the squad car, away from the storm of bullets. Every now and then, one of them gets their own shot away, but it doesn't seem to make much of a difference to the situation.

Someone eventually makes a breakthrough and suddenly they can run at the house.

When Travis gets shot, Wes could swear that his heart stops. Travis goes down like a ton of bricks, gun clattering to the ground. "Go!" Wes hears Weston yell. "We've got this." He's vaguely aware of his legs obeying when his mind is not yet switched on. Travis' eyes are closed when he reaches him, but there's no blood. The bullet just hit his vest. Wes closes his own eyes and releases a deep sigh of relief.

The first thing Travis sees when he opens his eyes a few seconds later is Wes, crouched over him. There's worry creased into his features, and sheer fucking terror, and something else. Something unrecognisable that Travis can't place just quite yet. He lets out a huff when he sees that Travis is awake, and that strange look dissipates. A wry smile twists his features.

/

Back at the now deserted precinct, Captain Sutton pats them both on the back before leaving. "Don't stay too long, boys." Wes can't stop glancing at Travis, as if he thinks that Travis will disappear if he looks away for too long. Finally, he says, "I think I'm gonna call it a day, Cabbage Patch." Travis nods, absentlymindedly.

"What's been with the 'Cabbage Patch' thing all day?" he says, just as Wes is about to leave. Wes stops and shifts from foot to foot.

"Y'know... what Doctor Ryan said. About showing affection."

"So you're showing affection? Towards me?" Travis takes a few steps towards Wes. "This afternoon," he says. "You were worried, weren't you, baby?"

"Of course I was," Wes replies, trying to figure out where Travis is going with this. "You're my partner."

"Yes, but it was because of more than that, wasn't it?" The look that Travis can't place is back in Wes' eyes. Except now he can place it. And he's pretty sure that that same look is penetrating his gaze, too.

And maybe they lean in at the same time and meet halfway. And maybe later they have an argument about who initiated the kiss. And maybe that argument ends with Travis in Wes' surprisingly comfortable hotel room bed. But now, they just stand and press kisses to each other's smiling lips.


	3. day 3

**prompt: **_patching each other up_

If Travis is honest with himself, and - despite Wes' arguments to the contrary - he is, it's his fault that Wes is currently saddled with a broken wrist. He was the one who tripped Wes up after all.

He's sat, sheepishly, in the hospital waiting room with Wes, who is cradling his left wrist and directing the occasional glare in Travis' general direction. After the ninth such glare (not that Travis has been counting), he blurts out, "I said I was sorry, man!"

"I know," Wes replies, calmly, acting for all the world as if he hadn't been glaring at Travis just seconds before. "But the fact remains that you _broke my wrist_." Travis winces.

"It'll heal," he tries.

"I'll be stuck on _desk duty_ for at least _two_ weeks, maybe three," Wes hisses. Travis' heart sinks. Wes on desk duty equals snippy and stir crazy Wes. Luckily, at that moment, a doctor steps into the waiting room and calls out Wes' name. Travis slides down further into the uncomfortable bright blue plastic seating as Wes strides off to get his wrist sorted out.

/

When Travis knocks on Wes' hotel room door, three days later, at the orders of Captain Sutton, he's surprised when a dishevelled looking Wes opens it after a minute or two. The first thing that Travis notices is the blood working its way down Wes' right forearm. His left arm is in a sling, a few pale fingers sticking out the end holding a plaster. The second thing that penetrates his brain is that Wes is wearing a t-shirt. "D'you need some help with that?" he asks, tentatively. Wes glares at him, but nods. Travis enters the hotel room and shuts the door behind him. From Wes' lax fingers, he eases the plaster. "Go sit down," he orders. "And do you have any TCP?"

"Bathroom cabinet," Wes mutters, mulishly, but he does as Travis asks.

He's sat on the bed when Travis comes back, carefully avoiding letting his blood drip onto the white sheets. Travis slots his hand around Wes' wrist and pulls his arm out straight. He cleans the blood away first, and finds that it's just a small, but deep, graze, near Wes' elbow. The first dab of TCP soaked cotton wool causes a sharp hiss to escape from Wes' mouth. Travis ignores it and continues. When he's done, he unwraps the plaster and places it over the cut. Wes has a vaguely constipated look on his face, which clears when Travis moves away. There's a twitch in Travis' heart when he sees this, but he dismisses it. "There," he says, forcing himself to grin widely as usual. "Done."

"Thanks," Wes says, and there's an uncomfortable silence.

"I'd best go," Travis says. "Cap just wanted me to check up on you."

"Sure," Wes replies, perhaps a bit absentmindedly, it seems. The awkward silence returns with vengeance.

"Well," Travis says, swinging his arms. "I'll see you." Wes doesn't look him in the eye.

"Yeah, sure," he says.

Travis leaves without looking back, even though he wants to.

/

The next time they see each other, it's Wes knocking on the door of Travis' trailer. And Travis is the one taking longer than usual to get to the door. When he finally does, he looks disorientated and in pain. "Fuck, Travis," Wes blurts out. "What happened?"

"I came off my bike," Travis says, wincing. There's an open cut just above his eyebrow. "It wasn't going fast. I'm not badly hurt." Wes rolls his eyes.

"Where?" he asks, bluntly.

"Just sprained a wrist and bruised my knee," Travis replies.

"And you've got a cut above your eyebrow," Wes says.

"Have I?" Travis reaches up to feel for it.

"No!" Wes says, and Travis' hand stalls. "Don't touch it, idiot." Travis frowns and a bead of blood pools in the cut. Wes huffs a sigh of impatience. "Let me help," he says. Obediently, Travis gets out of the way as Wes enters his trailer.

"I already got the first aid kit out," he says. "It's on the bed."

"Sit," Wes orders. Surprisingly, Travis does as he says. Wes crouches in front of him.

"Are you sure you're going to be able to do this?" Travis asks, trying not to move as Wes dabs at the cut with an antiseptic wipe. "I mean, you've got a broken wrist."

"I still have motor movement in my fingers, Travis," Wes replies, sounding vaguely amused. He starts to stick the butterfly strips over the cut and, really, Travis thinks, having Wes _this close _is ridiculously distracting. Especially when he's concentrating like he is. He almost doesn't notice when Wes finishes. In fact, he's pretty sure he doesn't, so busy is he looking at Wes' eyes and lips and face and... oh fuck.

Except Wes is looking at him with the same intensity and their breath is mingling in the air. So Travis decides to do what he does best and take a risk.

But Wes must have been waiting for him, he thinks, because that's the only possible way that his risk could have paid off so well. And really, he thinks, it's just a matter of time before his brain turns to mush at this rate.


	4. day 4

**prompt: **_hospital visits_

Wes is good at compartmentalising. Very good at it, in fact. He's been doing it all his life, so he should be, he thinks.

Except that here, in this hospital corridor, with its flickering strip lights and sterile facelessness, he's forgotten how to compartmentalise.

And, as usual, it's Travis' fault.

/

It had been a normal day, up until the suspect questioning had blown up in their faces.

The gun had been a complete surprise. As had the bullet thudding into Travis' stomach. Their suspect had gone pale and looked for all the world as if he was about to be sick.

Wes will freely admit that he was a _little _rough when putting the handcuffs on him.

It had taken an age for the ambulance to come, he thought. And all the time, Travis was bleeding out on the cream coloured carpet. 'That's going to stain,' Wes had thought and then berated himself for even _thinking_ of such a thing when his partner was _dying_ on the floor.

/

And that brings him to here. Waiting for Travis to come out of surgery, while his neat little compartments overflow and spill into his mind. And all the while his heart is thumping _Tra-vis Tra-vis Tra-vis_.

When the doctor comes out, he feels as though he's about to vomit from all the worry building up in his stomach. "Mr Marks is stable," the doctor says. "If you wanted to go in and see him. He's not yet awake, though."

Wes does go and see him. He just doesn't go _in_. He stands in the doorway and allows the rise and fall of Travis' chest to slow his own heartrate. Then, he leaves.

/

It's dark outside and Wes blinks back the darkness until his eyes become accustomed to the lack of light.

He drives to his house slowly, not yet wanting to face his thoughts. Especially not the ones that consist mainly of _Travis_.

His house is cold and dark when he returns, and he sits on the sofa, not bothering to turn on the lights.

He thinks.

And when he finally surfaces from his thoughts, the weak winter light of dawn is filtering through the windows.

/

When the Captain takes him off the case, he doesn't argue. And if the Captain squints at him strangely, then he must just have something in his eye. He gets pitying looks from everyone in the precinct, but when they find out that he's no longer on the case, the pitying looks turn sour.

He ignores them, though. He's good at that - not confronting his feelings.

/

Travis is out of hospital within a week.

Wes is not at his desk.

/

Dr Ryan can sense that something is up from the moment Travis walks into the session without Wes. "Where's Wes?" she asks, knowing full well that it's not like him to be late. Travis shrugs.

"I don't know," he says, and there's something in his voice that suggests a confrontation. The other couples pick up on it too.

Wes slips in less than a minute before the session is due to start. He doesn't look any of them in the eye.

"Okay," Dr Ryan says. "Let's start. I'm going to go around the group and each of you has to ask your partner a question. I want honest answers, please." She looks over to Travis and Wes, who haven't yet looked at each other. "Travis, if you could start."

"Sure," Travis replies, his light tone belying his thoughts. "I actually have a few questions." Dr Ryan watches carefully as Wes stiffens, almost imperceptibly. She nods at Travis for him to continue. "First off, why didn't you visit me in hospital?" Wes shrugs.

"I had a lot of paperwork to do. You got shot, remember? Do you know how much paperwork there is for that?" He's not lying, per se, but he's not telling the truth. He doesn't really know how to; how he could explain the panicked beating of his heart when he'd seen Travis lying pale in that hospital bed, or how his throat constricts and he just wants everything to stop and rewind to when he and Travis weren't fractuous and argumentative all the time.

"And why did I have to hear that you'd been taken off the case from _Brady _of all people? And that you just let it go?"

Wes doesn't know what to say to that. Because, what can he say? He didn't fight it, because he knew that when he caught the perp, he'd want them _dead_ for what they did to Travis? That would just cause more questions and thinking and de-compartmentalising. And he's not good at that. He's _good_ at compartmentalising; he can do that.

"Wes?" It's Dr Ryan. "Are you going to answer Travis?" He looks briefly at her, then back down at the floor.

"I..." he starts. And then he can't continue, because the words stick in his throat and make him feel like choking. He slumps in on himself slightly, and he's just so _tired_. Tired of arguing and pretending and being an asshole and just everything. "I..." he chokes out. "I couldn't do it."

"What do you mean?" Travis asks, loudly. "What do you mean, you couldn't do it?"

"I couldn't finish the case because I..." he pauses and swallows, and the swallow sounds overly loud in the silence. "I didn't know what I'd do to them when I found them and whether I'd be able to stop myself," he whispers, but Travis hears just fine.

"I don't..." Travis' voice breaks, and Wes feels physically sick. And he can't stay here anymore. He has to get out.

/

He doesn't realise that he's outside until he's fumbling for his car keys. His heart is beating too fast, and he almost doesn't hear his name being called. It's Travis. Of course, it's Travis.

"You don't get to fucking do that!" he's yelling. "You _don't_. We're partners, remember? And, no, I'm not talking about being dropped from the case." He gets quieter as he gets closer, until he's stood right in front of Wes. "You don't," he repeats, quietly. And then he's kissing Wes and Wes is kissing him back, desperately, and clinging onto Travis' shirt. And when they break apart finally, Travis rests his forehead on Wes', and they both smile tentatively.

/

Wes is good at compartmentalising. Very good at it, even. But there are some things that he doesn't _need_ to compartmentalise any longer, and Travis is one of them.


	5. day 5

**prompt: **_scar worship __(i'm sorry, it's a bit of a slow burn, and towards the end, i was rushed)_

When Travis first takes the time to learn Wes, he finds out a few surprising things, perhaps ones that, in hindsight, he should have seen coming, he thinks. But he didn't, and, unfortunately, there's nothing he can do about it now, other than rearrange his worldview to fit _this_ Wes in.

**_Number one: Wes is adopted_**

They're talking about families in couples' therapy, specifically parents. Usually, Dr Ryan would end with Wes, but, for some reason, this time she starts with him. Wes seems as surprised as everyone else, but for once, he's willing to talk. "They live in New York," he says. "I don't really get to see them much."

"That's sad," Dakota murmurs. Wes turns to her.

"Not really," he says, shrugging. "We talk on the phone a lot. I spoke to them last night."

"You should invite them down," Travis suggests.

"I don't know," Wes says, an unprecedented uncertainty creeping into his tone. "Harvey's always busy with cases."

"You call your parents by their Christian names?" Dr Ryan asks, quietly but firmly. Wes hesitates just long enough for Travis to work it out.

"Were you _adopted_?" he asks, incredulously. Wes rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"Yeah," he breathes out, a slight shakiness in his tone betraying his true feelings.

"Oh," Travis says, almost abruptly, like his world has just been turned upside down by this news. Perhaps it has; Wes doesn't know.

"Tell us about them," Dakota urges. "What are they like?"

"Harvey likes to pretend that he doesn't care about people," Wes says, tentatively. "But he's really just a big softie. He used to take me to see the Yankees playing, whenever he could, with Mike and Donna. He supports the Yankees, but Mike supports the Mets, so they always had arguments when we saw games. Sometimes, Harvey would buy tickets to see the Mets and not tell Mike he had until we were stood outside the stadium. In the winter, we'd go see the Rangers play, because Mike supports them, even though Harvey doesn't like hockey that much." He pauses and looks around before glancing down at the floor. "Mike's really different to Harvey. He's always enthusiastic, and was always the one to come to anything school related even if Harvey couldn't. Harvey says he cares too much about the people he's defending in court, especially now that he's made junior partner at the firm, but Mike just rolls his eyes whenever Harvey says something like that."

"And what about your extended family?" Dr Ryan asks.

"I don't really have a proper extended family," Wes replies. "At least, not in the same way as other people. Donna - she's Harvey's secretary - is kind of like an aunt to me. We used to prank Harvey and Louis together, sometimes with Mike's help. Louis is another senior partner at the firm. He and Harvey pretend not to be able to each other, but they're friends really. Then there's Rachel, and Jessica. Rachel's a paralegal, and she's always helping Mike with research. Jessica's one of the firm's founding partners. She's a lot like Harvey, because she pretends to be very strict, when she's actually really nice." He shrugs. "That's all of them."

"Thank you, Wes," Dr Ryan says, smiling at him. "I'm glad you decided to share that with us." Because Travis is adept in Wes-speak, he knows that the little shrug that Wes gives, and the wry smile, means that Wes is glad he shared it too.

**_Number two: he was abused as a young child_**

"Boys," Captain Sutton nods to them as he comes over to their desk. The precinct is quiet, and it's almost only them who are there still. "I need to talk to you in my office."

"Sure, Cap," Travis chirps, looking at Wes with an expression on his face that says 'we haven't done anything wrong, have we?'

Once they're in his office, Sutton produces a case file. "I need you to look over this. I told the DA that I'd put you two on the case." Wes opens the file, and pales.

"Cap, I can't do this case," he says, and it almost sounds as if he's pleading. "It's child abuse, and I can't do child abuse."

"I know, Wes," Sutton says, his voice sounding, to Travis, softer. "But I'm afraid you don't have a choice. The DA wants you and Travis on the case."

"Okay," Wes says, resignedly. "I'll try." Travis has been watching this interaction curiously, and now he turns to Sutton and asks,

"Why _have_ we got a child abuse case? We're Robbery/Homicide, not Domestic Abuse."

"I know, I know," Sutton replies. "It's not our jurisdiction, but the DA wanted you on the case. I think it's because she's good friends with the victim's aunt."

Once they're out of the office and heading to Wes' car, Travis asks, quietly, "You gonna tell me why you can't do child abuse cases?" He watches Wes swallow nervously.

"It reminds me too much of myself," he whispers, and Travis has to strain to hear him. "Before social services finally decided to step in and before Harvey and Mike adopted me." Travis stops and Wes stops with him. There's a frown marring Travis' features as he looks at Wes. The look on Wes' face is halfway between worry and something akin to a glare, almost daring Travis to pity him.

"If you want," he says, slightly awkwardly. "I can deal with things if it gets too much."

"I..." Wes starts, almost as if he was expecting pity and then was surprised when he didn't get it. "If you don't mind," he says, instead. "I'll do my best to help, though."

"Don't sweat it, baby." The smile that Wes gives Travis in return is shy and thankful, and Travis' heart skips a beat.

**_Number three: he has ridiculously low self esteem_**

Occasionally, Travis berates himself for not realising this earlier. Berates himself for not noticing Wes' wry smile whenever anyone compliments him. A smile that says 'you're wrong' with such certainty that Travis frowns every time he sees it.

But the other smile is much worse. That's the one that appears when someone insults Wes, usually Travis. It says 'you're right, you know' with an almost imperceptible hint of sadness. It makes Travis' heart ache and his chest contract, because why can't Wes see what he sees, what everyone else sees.

So Travis makes a promise to himself. He's going to be nice to Wes and compliment him every day and not insult him, until Wes believes the same things about himself that everyone else does.

And he knows that it will take some time. But he's going to do this.

**_Number four: Dr Ryan was only halfway there with her initial assessment of Wes_**

"Critical people are often trying to keep the world at arms length, particularly the ones they love because they don't think they deserve their affection," she'd said about him, but she's only part way there, Travis later realises.

Yes, Wes does exactly this. But he does it also because he thinks he'll always disappoint them as well.

And Travis could shoot the asshole made Wes think that he was worthless.

He thinks he understands Wes a bit better now. He understands why he acts like an asshole most of the time. He understands why he hasn't let anyone get close to him since the shitstorm that was his divorce from Alex.

One time, trust issues come up in therapy. It's Mr Dumont who brings it up, surprisingly. Something about his wife not trusting him. To be honest, Travis kind of switches off there, focusing more on watching Wes from the corner of his eye. He doesn't know what he's expecting, but when he sees Wes tense, only just noticeably, at the mention of believing people.

He thinks he can guess pretty well what the root of these problems is, and why they've resulted in his general asshole-ishness. He's seen it enough times as a foster kid.

Which is why he decides, right there and then, that he's going to persevere with becoming Wes' friend. Even if Wes can be the biggest asshole in L.A. sometimes.

**_Number five: Wes has clinical depression_**

Dr Ryan wants the therapy group to talk about dealing with mental illnesses, specifically if one of their pair is diagnosed with one. Travis is pretty sure that _everyone _sees Wes stiffen at the mention of mental illnesses. "Do you have anything you'd like to share, Wes?" Dr Ryan asks, deceptively lightly.

"No," Wes replies, but it's not at all convincing. Travis glances over at Wes.

"Come on, Wes," he says. "Why not?" Wes grimaces and Travis knows that that means that Wes _is _going to speak.

"Ihaveclinicaldepression," he says, so quietly and quickly that Travis _almost _misses it. Then, he looks resolutely at the floor, and _not _at the rest of the therapy group.

"My aunt had depression," Dakota says, absentmindedly. Apparently, this shocks Wes into looking up. Dakota smiles at him, and it's devoid of any pity. Travis watches Wes relax, grateful at Dakota's intervention.

The drive back to the precinct is silent, and Travis watches Wes' hands convulsively clench the steering wheel. "Pull over," he says, after the nineteenth such convulsion. Wes does as he asks. Once they've stopped, in a supermarket car park, Travis says, "You okay?" Wes lets out a shaky breath.

"I think so," he says. "It's just... I've never _told _anyone about it before."

"What do you mean?" Wes looks at him, steadily.

"I mean, the people who've known, have known because they were there when I was diagnosed, not because I've told them."

"Does Alex know?" Wes shakes his head, silently. "Okay," Travis says, breathing out. "Okay." He pauses for a moment. "Thanks for telling me."

**_Number six: he has attempted suicide three times_**

Wes can feel his heart thumping hard against his chest as he speaks. The sound of it rushing into his ears almost drowns out his own voice. _Calm down_, he orders himself. _You can do this_.

"I've tried to commit three times," is all Travis hears before the blood rushing through his head drowns out anything more. _Wes has tried to commit suicide_, he thinks. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_. He doesn't register that Wes has stopped talking until he glances up and sees Wes looking at him. He has no idea what the expression on his face looks like, but it must hurt Wes, who gets up and rushes out of the room. Travis glances to Dr Ryan, who makes a movement with her head towards the door, which is still swinging to and fro from Wes' exit. Needing no more encouragement, Travis follows him out.

Wes is perhaps a bit predictable, because he's leaning against his car, forehead resting on the metal of the roof. "Go away, Travis," he says, hearing his approach. "I know what you think of me. You think the same as everyone else once I've told them. That I'm weak and selfish and stupid –" Travis cuts him off by pulling him around to face him and pressing his lips against Wes'.

Wes is still for a moment, before kissing back, his desperation almost tangible.

Really, Travis thinks, it's all been leading up to this. _This_ is the logical conclusion to everything they've done together, to all the seven years they've spent as a partnership, to the four months they've spent going to therapy. It was always going to end like this.

**_Number seven: he has self-harmed_**

Travis doesn't get to know the seventh and final fact about Wes until three weeks later, in Travis' trailer. It starts off with kissing. Small kisses while they eat a takeout, which leads into making out on the threadbare sofa, squeezed into one corner of the trailer. And then Wes is pulling at Travis' shirt, trying to tug it over his head, while still kissing him. Laughing, Travis breaks away briefly, and allows Wes to take his shirt off completely. Then, he unbuttons Wes' shirt, slowly, and pushes it from his shoulders. Wes stomach and upper arms are covered in shiny white scars. Travis frowns and reaches out to brush his fingers over one. Wes lets him, but when Travis looks up, the expression on Wes' face is one of worry and Travis hates it. Slowly, he leans in and pushes Wes back so he's lying on the sofa. Then, he lowers his head to Wes' stomach and kisses the length of each scar. He can feel, beneath his lips, the trembling of Wes' stomach muscles. Once he's done, he kisses his way up Wes' chest, until he meets his lips. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his breath washing over Wes' face. Wes frowns, and Travis uses his thumb to smooth out the crease in Wes' forehead. "Trust me," he says. Wes relaxes visibly.

"Okay," he says, quietly, in return. "Okay."


	6. day 6

**prompt: **_making fun of each other (these are late and i'm sorry but two in one day is good right?)_

"You sound... like a... girl."

"Shut... up."

"I'm... serious. You... do... All those... high pitched moans."

"It's not... like you're... any better. What... was it? 'Oh... don't stop... don't fucking stop'?"

"As... you said... I'm no... better... than you."

"How... are you still... talking?"

"I could... ask the same of... you."

"Only... you could... insist on having... a conversation... during sex."

"I'm clearly... not working hard enough... if you can still say... words as long... as 'conversation'."

"Like you... could."

"Oh... it's on."


	7. day 7

**prompt: death of someone close**

The day that Wes doesn't turn up for work is the day that Travis starts to worry. Wes had been showing up looking like the dead every day so far that week, and it had looked as though he was running on fumes. So surely Travis should be happy that he finally decided to take the day off.

He's not.

Which is why he's stood outside Wes' hotel room door, preparing to knock. If he's honest, he's a bit scared of what he might find. The door opens before his knuckles can touch wood and Wes is stood there, red eyed and dishevelled. Travis has never seen Wes like this; he never wants to see Wes like this again. "What?" Wes says, roughly. "Stared enough yet? Did you just come to make fun of me?"

"No!" Travis replies, startled. "Of course not."

"Then why did you come?" Wes is frowning at him now.

"I came to check up on you," Travis explains. "I was worried about you." Wes scoffs, disbelievingly. "I was!" he exclaims, defensively. "Look, man. You turn up for work most of the week looking like you haven't slept in about a month and then you don't come into work today. What am I supposed to do?" Wes shrugs and turns away from the doorway.

"You'd best come in then," he says, sounding resigned. Travis closes the door behind him.

"So, what's up?" Travis asks, once they've sat down, awkwardly, on the sagging hotel sofa. Wes drags his hands down his face, and Travis feels a little awkward for having brought it up so insensitively. "My aunt died," Wes says, suddenly. "She'd been in hospital for a while, with advanced leukaemia. She was the only one in my family who supported my decision to become a cop. The rest of my family hasn't spoken to me since then. She was the only one who kept in touch, and I don't even know if I'll be invited to her funeral. The only reason I know she's dead is because she left me everything in her will."

"If you don't mind me saying," Travis starts. "Your family's a bit fucked up." Wes makes a wry, slightly watery, half-laugh-half-hiccup kind of noise.

"Yeah," he agrees, in a whisper.

"Tell me about her," Travis offers. "It always helps me to talk."

"She was my mother's younger sister," Wes begins. "She used to look after me when my mum was at work, because she was an artist. That's why my family didn't really approve of her: according to them, she didn't have a proper job. Pretty much the same thing they think of being a cop.

"She was beautiful, and I'm not just saying that. She was beautiful and she was always happy, even though she often didn't have very much money. I wish I had had her courage not to just slip into a job that my family deems 'acceptable', but I didn't. She always supported me, though, and when I decided to go into law enforcement, she stood by me. I'll be grateful to her forever for that."

Once Wes stops speaking, they sit in silence for a while. Then, Wes says, breaking the silence, "Thanks. For coming here."

"It's no problem," Travis says, shrugging. "What are friends for?"


	8. day 8

_established relationship fic! i know it's late, but i'm going to try write at least one more today._

**prompt:** _sleeping in_

Contrary to popular belief, Wes has always liked lie-ins. It's just that his current job doesn't really allow for them.

He and Travis are on a particularly tricky case, at the moment. One that doesn't allow for any more sleep than is necessary to work effectively, and even then, the boundaries are incredibly blurred as to what constitutes as a 'necessary amount'. He's almost dead on his feet by the time they catch the perp, and he can't even muster the energy to respond to Travis' ribbing.

He almost crashes his car three times on the way home; he's lucky that no one else is on the streets at this ungodly time.

When he gets to his house, he fumbles with the door keys. In the bedroom, he strips down to his boxers, leaving his clothes crumpled on the floor.

Burrowed under his duvet, it doesn't take him long to fall asleep.

When Wes doesn't show up for work the next morning, Travis begins to get worried. It's not like Wes to be late, even after only finishing a case in the early hours of the morning.

He waits until lunchtime before heading over to Wes' place. He's got a set of keys for Wes' new house; Wes had given him a set when he'd bought it, so he'd be able to let himself in.

He finds no evidence of Wes being ill; no sniffling, grumbling Wes sat on the sofa, but then, there is no evidence of Wes at all, so far as he can see. Until he enters the bedroom.

It's not Wes in the bed so much as a lump, covered by the duvet. But he's awake, Travis can tell. "You tired, baby?" he asks, smiling.

"Havin' a lie-in," Wes replies, his voice still smothered in the remnants of sleep. "So you can either geddout or geddin."

"Get in where?"

"Bed, y'idiot." Chuckling a bit, Travis walks around the other side of the bed, slipping off his shoes as he goes. "No," Wes moans. "Clo' s'off."

"Is that a come-on?" Travis asks, grinning.

"Wou' be," Wes mumbles. "'Fi was more 'wake." Travis laughs, prompting Wes to say, "You gettin' in or no'?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Travis replies, now stripped down to his boxers. He slips under the duvet and immediately Wes gravitates towards him so that Travis ends up with an armful of Wes. "Didn't know you liked lie-ins, baby," he says, only half-joking. Wes hums against his collar bone, and traces lazy patterns across his hips. Smiling, Travis kisses the top of his head, gently. "If you're lucky," he says. "I might make pancakes."


	9. day 9

**prompt:** _hugging (god this is bad, i'm sorry. i'm behind, i know, but i have more time to write now, though!)_

Travis is an extremely tactile person. Wes learns this as soon as he meets him, seven years previous to now. The problem is, Wes _isn't _a tactile person - or at least, not so much as Travis is.

So every time that Travis attempts to touch him in any way (_but not like that_), he flinches away. But he can't possibly miss the hurt expression that crosses Travis' face each time. And that expression _is not okay_, never, not in any situation. So he's going to attempt to rectify this. Attempt being the key word, because he's fucking terrified of screwing this up.

The next time Travis rests his hand, too gingerly for Wes' liking, on Wes' shoulder, he doesn't flinch. He just lets it rest there. And if Travis gives him a strange look, then that's totally okay, because it isn't that damned hurt look.

Travis brings it up in therapy, and it looks like Wes is going to have to answer some very awkward questions before his phone buzzes. Just his, not Travis'. And maybe that should have clued him into something. But it doesn't.

He goes outside to answer it.

And he's still standing outside, holding the phone to his ear, when the session concludes and everyone leaves. He's dimly aware of the voice at the end of the phone saying, "Hello? Hello?" and Travis waving his hand in front of Wes' face saying, "Hey, Wes? You in there?"

He hangs up the phone; he can't face talking anymore right now. Some of that must show on Travis' face, because he doesn't say anything.

And then suddenly, Wes is in Travis' arms and he's hugging him tightly, and Travis, although probably surprised by this turn of events, hugs him back, just as tightly. "Hey," he's whispering into Wes' hair. "Hey. It's okay. I've got you." And Wes allows himself to think that it is.


	10. day 10

**prompt: **_watching the other sleep (i'm sorry i'm really bad with the one a day thing)_

Travis won't tell anyone but he really likes to watch Wes sleep. Sometimes, he'll even stay awake just so he can see the even inhale-exhale rhythm of Wes' chest when he drops off. Occasionally, he'll let it lull him to sleep.

...

Wes won't tell anyone but he's never really asleep when Travis thinks he is. He's not awake, but he's not so completely out of it that he can't feel Travis watching him, can't feel his puffs of breath hit his shoulder and sometimes his chest. And when he's completely sure that Travis himself is asleep, he opens his eyes.

...

Travis likes watching Wes sleep because all the creases that his seemingly permanent frown makes on his face are ironed out. He looks utterly peaceful, like there are no worries in the world. Travis sometimes catches himself wishing that Wes would let his guard down more often. But then he realises that he doesn't want him to. Wes trusts _him_ enough to let his guard down around him, and that thought alone makes Travis feel special.

...

Wes likes watching Travis sleep because it's the only time he can think of that Travis is quiet and still and at peace. On occasion, he wishes that he would always be like this, but then he thinks again and realises that the reason he loves Travis (or rather, one of many reasons), is that he lets Wes seen him like this. And only Wes.

...

One night, Travis wakes from a bad dream to find Wes watching him, a frown marring his features. "I didn't wake you, did I?" Travis whispers, more worried about Wes' sleep than his own. Wes shakes his head, and the frown slips off his face.

"No," he whispers back. "I wasn't asleep."

"Oh," Travis says, quietly. "You looked it when I went to sleep." Wes smiles, and leans forward to kiss Travis.

"I love you," he says, seriously. "I love you so much." As surprised as he is at this admission, Travis smiles back.

"I love you, too."


	11. day 11

**prompt: **_drawing each other_

One thing Wes has always loved to do is draw. He's never told anyone, not since he made the mistake of telling his father. "What are you?" his father had shouted. "A pansy boy?" After that, Wes hadn't mentioned it at all.

For a little while, he'd stopped drawing altogether. Except it wasn't a little while really. More like a long while: from telling his father, aged 14, to divorcing Alex, twenty years later. He's honest with himself, and freely admits that it's because of Travis that he takes it up again. And maybe a little bit because of therapy.

But mainly Travis.

...

It starts like this.

Dr Ryan gets them to do the tree exercise again ("Properly this time," she adds, looking directly at Wes. He shrugs).

The tree he draws is intricately detailed, bare branches coiling and twisting out of a scarred tree trunk. He doesn't really want to show it when Dr Ryan tells them to stop drawing, but under her level gaze (and Travis' puppy eyes), he relents and turns the sketchpad around.

He stares resolutely at the floor as the gasps and praise come from everyone except Dr Ryan and Travis. Dr Ryan is sat, impassively, a small smile playing across her face. Travis, on the other hand, is frowning. "Why didn't you tell me you could draw?" he says, gesturing at the picture. Wes shrugs.

"Because this is the first thing I've drawn in twenty years," he says, aiming for a light tone, but it comes out a bit strained.

"You should do it more often," Travis replies.

...

He has been drawing more often since then, getting used to the sound of his pencil running smoothly over the paper and the colour of his fingers after he's smoothed over the pencil lines. It's coming back easily, like it never went away.

The problem is, all his drawings are of Travis.

It looks horribly like he's a stalker, Wes realises, but in truth, Travis' image is imprinted on his consciousness, and he can draw him from memory. It's a bit worrying, really.

...

It ends like this.

Wes comes into his living room one day, to find Travis flicking through his sketchbook. Two things run through his mind in quick succession: how did he get in and is that his _sketchbook_? The latter, Wes decides, is the much more pressing matter right now.

Travis is the first to speak, seeing from the corner of his eye Wes standing frozen in the doorway. "These are good," he says, his tone forcibly light.

"Thanks," Wes whispers. He shifts from foot to foot and almost doesn't catch Travis as he tumbles into him. He very almost doesn't realise that they're kissing now. _Kissing_. Desperately and roughly. Travis bites at his lips and Wes moans, embarrassingly loudly. Travis pulls away, chuckling. He's breathing heavily; they both are. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he confesses. Wes grins.

"Got a lot of catching up to do then, haven't you?"


	12. day 12

**prompt:**_ having a lazy day (another established relationship fic! woo hoo!)_

It's not often that they get to have days off, what with the police work and seemingly constant stream of suspicious deaths, but when they do, all Wes will want to do is stay in bed, with Travis' warmth wrapped around him.

On those days, it'll be Travis' little nose bumps and gentle kisses scattered along his jawline that rouse him from his sleep. He'll groan - the sort of groan that says 'I don't want to be awake' - and Travis will chuckle. The sound will reverberate in his chest and Wes will feel it seeping through his back. He'll twist around in Travis' arms, first just his torso, then his whole body, until he's facing Travis in their bed. "G'mornin'," he'll mumble.

"Morning," Travis will reply, infuriatingly awake, and then he'll kiss him, gently and slowly, letting Wes melt into a puddle of goo in the sheets. The most annoying thing is that Travis _knows_, he goddamn _knows_, that he has that effect on Wes, and yet he'll still do it. And then he'll stop and Wes will make a low, complaining sound in the back of his throat, because, _hey that shit's not alright_.

Travis will laugh again and try to roll out of bed. Try being the operative word. Wes'll just tug him back under the covers and curl up close. "I was going to make pancakes!" Travis will say.

"Don' wan' pancakes," Wes will mutter into Travis' chest. "Wan' you."

"You sound drunk," Travis will reply.

"Sleep drunk," Wes will respond, nuzzling further into Travis. Travis will concede defeat and allow Wes to anchor him to the bed.

...

A couple of hours later, they'll get up, and Travis, as promised, will start making pancakes. Only he won't get to far, because they'll end up, Wes sat on the counter and Travis resting between his legs, kissing. Nothing rough or desperate, but soft and gentle kisses, each reveling in the feel of the other. The pancake batter will lie, forgotten on the side.

It'll be past midday by the time they get up properly, and even then they'll just laze around, watching reruns of crappy TV shows, more often than not, cop shows, which will result in both of them yelling at the TV that they've _got the fucking procedure wrong_. After a bit, the noise of the TV will become background noise as they kiss slowly on the sofa.

In the evening, Travis will take Wes out to eat (and only because they both realise quite how hungry they are), and pay. They'll sit in the corner booth of the restaurant - always the same one - and smile contentedly for the whole meal (it may cross Wes' mind how sickeningly happy they are but he'll always dismiss it).

And then they'll fall back into bed, and lazily make love as though they have all the time in the world (which they do, until a phonecall from Sutton wakes them up at 6am the next day, telling them to _get their arses down to the crime scene right now_).


	13. day 13

**prompt:** _in a fairytale (i'm sorry it's late and tenuous and i guess i like tenuity)_

If there's one thing Travis hates, it's hospitals.

No.

Scratch that.

If there's one thing Travis hates, it's seeing _Wes_ in hospital.

Wes. In hospital. In a coma.

...

Travis hasn't slept for three days. He hasn't eaten for two. Hasn't moved for one.

It's not like he can.

Not when Wes is lying in stasis on a blank white hospital bed.

There's an oxygen mask over his face.

He has about three drips in his arm.

The heart monitor next to his bed is going _beep beep beep_.

Travis can't stand it.

...

His skin is pale and his face is gaunt. There's no fluttering behind his eyelids, but his chest is rising up and down and up and down. Watching him lie there reminds Travis of a fairytale one of his foster mothers had read to him once, to get him to go to bed. _Sleeping Beauty_. Not that Wes would appreciated being compared to a princess.

He'd probably bitch and moan and-

Dammit, Travis _misses_ Wes.

He _misses_ his anally retentive, asshole of a partner.

He _misses_ the bitching and moaning and general getting on one another's nerves.

It feels like one of his limbs has been amputated. He can't _do _anything at the moment. He _needs _Wes.

...

Sutton tries to get him to leave, one time. But Travis was so unable to concentrate (even worse than usual), and so snippy with anyone who asked for anything from him, back at the precinct, that Sutton just shooed him back to the hospital, with orders not to leave until he thinks he's regained his sanity again.

And so that leads round to this: sat at Wes' bedside watching his chest rise and fall and being slowly lulled into drowsiness. Before he allows himself to sleep though, he gets up from his chair and presses a kiss gently to Wes' forehead. (He's not going to try and kid himself into thinking that it's anything other than what it is. He does chastise himself though. Because Sleeping Beauty is a fucking _fairytale_, he tells himself. A _fairytale_.)

...

He doesn't seriously expect it to make a difference. But when he slowly eases open his own eyes, he sees Wes' blue ones blinking blearily at him. "Wes!" he cries out.

"'Lo," Wes replies, his voice hoarse and rasping, through the oxygen mask.

"D'you need water?" Travis asks, wincing as he hears the tear and wear of disuse in Wes' voice. Wes nods. "Give me a minute," Travis says. "I'll just get the nurse." He gets up to leave, when he hears something akin to a laugh coming from Wes. "What?" he asks turning around. Wes gestures with his head towards the call button. "Oh," Travis says, grinning sheepishly. "Forgot about that."

...

The nurse removes the oxygen mask and lets Travis help prop Wes up on his pillows. Then, Travis gives him the water to sip, while the nurse checks over all his vitals.

Once she's gone, they're left in a semi-awkward silence.

"Don't do that again." Travis eventually breaks the quiet.

"It's not my fault that some idiot driver decides to blindside me," Wes snipes. Travis lets out an unexpected laugh. Wes pulls a face, confused.

"I've missed you," Travis confesses, quietly. "I-"

"Come here," Wes cuts him off, equally quietly. "Come here."

...

When Sutton visits later, he peeks into the room to find the chair pulled right up next to the bed and Travis sat in it, sleeping with his head resting on the edge of Wes' bed. Wes is asleep too, his left hand resting gently in Travis' hair.

Sutton closes the door again quietly.


End file.
